Creative Self-Expression
by Lyta Halifax
Summary: During an intimate moment with Chloe, Max discovers a "crazysexycool" new use for her power. She also discovers that you can't take away the artistic perspective from the art school geek, even in the bedroom. [Rated M for a fresh, Lemony scent.]


_**A/N: **__Warning: Ye be entering the realms of the Smutesque! Turn back now lest ye be possibly offended! Also: possible spoilers for Life Is Strange!_

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Okay. I'll be the first to admit that things went crazy-fast with Chloe after I finally kissed her. And she kissed me back, and we kissed each other. Sooooo maybe sneaking back into her bedroom - shit, thank God her parents aren't home 'cause I'm still nervous they might walk in on us! - was taking things too fast. Like, maybe everything that happened as soon as her bedroom door was locked behind us was going too fast.

But hey, love is crazy right?

Oh...did I say the L-word?

Yeah. Hah. I totally did.

But all of this is super crazy when you're barely eighteen, and everything you thought you knew about reality and the world just falls apart. When all the things you've seen over the past couple of days are just screaming at you that the world is going to end, and you won't even live to see another weekend.

Tends to give a girl a new perspective on a lot of things.

I just assumed we were going to make out though, you know. I didn't have any real expectations beyond that. Mostly because I wasn't sure how far *I* wanted it to go. But I will give Chloe credit: she's really, really persuasive.

Please don't read that the wrong way though! It's not like she was being creepy or pressure...y. I think she was just waiting for me to draw a line, and I really didn't want to. But everything that was happening was too good, too intense. I mean, I never even liked making out, the one or two times I tried it in the past. But Chloe is so the opposite of all of that. There's no having to think or worry with her. It's natural. Instinctive. She's reading me like a book. Playing me like a piano...

(Can I take that last phrase back?)

All it took was three minutes or so of really intense making out, and all the sudden, someone opened up the cage and let Wicked-Naughty Max out at last.

(Oh God, I can't believe I actually wrote that last sentence. On purpose.)

I mean, it was pretty clear to me she'd done this kinda thing before. Maybe even, you know...with Rachel. Okay, no, not going to think about it. Not going to turn jelly here. Especially when I don't even know for sure what was happening between them. And because I don't have any right to be pissed, when Rachel Amber was the one keeping Chloe sane after I bugged out of Arcadia Bay.

Shit, where was I?

Right, I'm trying to get over the crippling embarrassment of writing down what happened next. Writing isn't my preferred medium. I'm totally a visual arts girl through and through. Which I guess is the reason for what happened next. While I was lying naked on her bed. Mostly naked. Naked enough. And she's...you know. She's slid down? Between my legs?

(And she's good. She's really, really good. Oh God, none of you have any idea. I mean, I have no idea either, what with being a...v-word. Until tonight. Still, gonna have to go with...lets see. I pick: brain-meltingly amazing. Yeah.)

When I come, it's a quick thing. Big surprise though, I mean, I'm so wound up by this point. Everything has been like a dream. Like it's all been leading to this one ideal moment in time. With my perfect Chloe. And it's all I can do not to scream or moan out or make about a billion other happy noises. But I need to do SOMETHING.

So naturally, I ended up grabbing my camera - my new camera. The one Chloe gave me. Hee. - and I took a picture. Right as I was...

Arrrg! Please stop laughing already!

"Oh my God, bitch. Did you just take a selfie?"

The square of instant film pops out, fluttering like a heavy leaf in the air, plopping down onto my sweaty forehead. Eyes open and I glance down at Chloe as she's lifting up her head. She's laughing, but I don't think she's laughing AT me. More like, she's amused, because I'm so quirky and cute and and artistic and...

(Yeah, just keep spinning that cocoon of self-delusion, Max)

I didn't mean to go back. I was just SO embarrassed. But I did. As far as I could take it. There was just enough time to catch my breath in "RewindSpace" - note to self: find a less stupid name to call it. But when time starts to go forward again...ahh! She's still...you know. Going down.

(On me. Sorry, just wanted to make sure that was clear)

I should have probably stopped her right there. 'Fessed up and explained what just happened. But, and I swear I am shivering still as I'm writing this - it just felt too good.

And it was different each time, you know? I started to react differently, so she started doing different things. Like I was tossing the dice each time, and getting a different set of numbers. So even though I was reliving the same space of time, it was like one continuous progression. You know, I bet someone could write a really good, but completely twisted paper on chaos theory and quantum phenomenon about all this and DAMNIT. Why am I writing about science right now?!

So I went with it. Like I got lost in kissing her over and over, I just let her have her way with me. And I made sure to take a picture, each and every time I came.

By the way? Five times appears to be the Max Caulfield Super-Sexytime Limit. Just in case any of you pervs were wondering.

(God, who am I writing this for anyhow? Seriously, if I find out someone other than me has be reading my diary, I am going to...I don't know. It won't be good.)

"Oh my God, bitch. Did you just take a selfie?"

That's the fifth time she's said it, at least from my objective perspective. And I finally let time march forward. By this point, I am so far beyond caring, it's not funny. I'm also kind of sore, and a crazy mess, but blissed out. With a capital Bliss.

"Don't censor my creative self-expression..." is all I can murmur.

Then I laugh, like I must be totally stoned or something - I mean, she would know what that sounded like. Not me. But still, I laugh, and kind of nod. Then I put the camera down and continue to answer. My voice comes out in a croak, sore and horse. Okay, confession time: I actually DID do a lot of screaming, especially near the end, but since I was able to rewind it back, I could get away with it.

"Annnnd...I didn't take *A* selfie. I took a bunch"

That's when Chloe finally notices the five pictures stuck to my wet and naked front. Her eyes bug out as she gathers them all up, arranging them in her hands like she's playing Barely Legal Schoolgirl Poker.

(Seriously! If someone else is reading this, I am going to kill you!)

I'm so worried she's going to freak. Think *I'M* a freak. Seriously, who takes pictures of their O-face the first time they ever have sex? I mean, I guess the answer is me, now. I do. Still...

But Chloe is smiling crazy-wide as she's looking them over. Like they're something precious. Something sacred. I quickly explain to her how there ended up being five pictures, when she only saw me take one.

"Wow! I...I don't get it though. If you rewound back, how come you have pictures? Plural. More than one?"

I blush, reach up to brush back the wet stands of hair from my face and start to explain. "Part of the power. If I'm carrying something, or it's on me? It travels back with me. And I really hope I'm not breaking the universe a little every time I do something like this."

"Wait. So you could have taken a picture of me when I fucking shot myself, or got hit by the train, and then come back and shown it to me?"

The look on my face must be absolutely horrific, but she quickly murmurs, "Alright. Maybe that was a liiiittle too gruesome." She quickly changes topics by holding one out and laughing brightly. "Oh my God! I love this one! Totes Adorbs! Did you MEAN to have your tongue sticking out to the side, and your eyes crossed?"

I study it for a second and then lean over to hide my face against a pillow, pausing for a moment to breath in Chloe's scent from it. "That was...that was number four. I was in a really crazy, primal place by that point."

"Ha ha! I can see that that!" She holds up another "This one makes you look like Barbarella in the Orgasmawhatever." It's number five, I think. I do look like a crazy hot mess by that point. Also, what Chloe says is more embarrassing because I JUST saw that movie on the flash drive Warren loaned me.

But she suddenly puts all but one of the pictures back by my camera. The one she keeps, she's just staring at, acting as if she's never seen anything like it before.

It's the first one. Maybe the second? I'm not sure. I really don't know what she sees in it, and I say as much to her.

She languidly moves to prop her head up on one elbow and murmurs continuing to divide that yummy, loving gaze between me and the selfie, "You look so pure in this one, Max. Really free. Like maybe you just found God. You're perfect." She looks up at me, reaching out to trace my lips. "You look like an angel."

I swallow hard, and I want to cry right then and there. I look like an angel, she says. That's what she called Rachel. Right?

(I'm not going to be jealous. I swear, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!)

Eventually she's on top of me. I don't remember her crawling up, but I'm in no mood to complain when she leans in to kiss me. She tastes like me...only different. Little firecracker echos sizzle up and down my back, but the soreness between my legs quickly puts a damper on any thoughts of taking a crack at number six.

Bopping me on the forehead with the photo she murmurs, "So as far as I know, that was like, fifteen minutes of work. Five times huh? Damn, I am totally Superwoman now. You better be saying best girlfriend ever." She rises up, flexing her arms in a triumphant pose.

"Best. Girlfriend. Ever." I happily comply.

We just stare at each other for a long while. I only hope I look half as radiant as she does.

"Don't think you're getting out of returning the favor though. In full."

I groan, and cover my face, so incredibly exhausted. I also feel a bit gross from perspiration by this point, not to mention self-conscious.

"Not right now." she reassures, breathing against my ear. "But I'm cashing in soon."

I give a sleepy nod and murmur, "Just don't lose that picture."

"Ooooh no. This one's going in the special place. Althoooooough." She gives a playful, mischievous look, gaze tilting to the side. "Maybe I should enter it in that contest at your school. Probably make Mr. Jefferson's day."

She only gives me five seconds to start sputtering and choking before she kisses the tip of my nose.

"Kidding, babe."

"Just for that, I'm falling asleep, right now."

It was a joke when I said it, but that's what happened, about twenty later. I expected her to flip out or tell me I needed to go, before her parents got back. But all she did instead was climb next to me, curl up close and pull a blanket up around us.

Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

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**A/N: **Is it horrible that my first instinct was to see if I could somehow get away with calling this story "Go Fuck Yourselfie"? :-D

Okay, so I kind of suck at doing lemons. I get even more nervous and uncertain when I'm trying to do teen lemons. Which admittedly, this is the first time. But I decided, writing this, that the emotional content and reactions mattered more than the "nitty gritty" of the the actual acts. I hope most folks reading this agree, or at least see what I was going for.

Also, to my usual readers: Yes. I'm terrible. I really SHOULD be working on getting PGY chapter 10 finished. Sorry, but when your Muse comes roaring out of nowhere and demanding that She be appeased, then appeasement is what happens.


End file.
